The March of Death
by Tremaile
Summary: Joar Addam Nessosin takes his first steps towards becoming Asmodean. (Involves mild m/m.)


The first thing he noticed about the room was the massive, ridiculously expensive-looking grand piano in the corner. Joar knew that the moment's surprise must have shown on his face — his host had never struck him as the musically inclined sort — but if the other man noticed, he never showed it. Elan Morin Tedronai merely waved the guests in with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Joar took a seat on the couch — and instantly wished he hadn't when Mierin took the armchair opposite instead of sitting next to him. Their host gave her her a look that might have been mildly amused or possibly annoyed, but said nothing and sat on the couch next to Joar as though he had always meant to do so.

"Mierin," Tedronai said. "Good to see you again. We missed you yesterday."

Mierin gave a small, delicate shrug. "I had other commitments."

Again that smile that did nothing to lift the melancholy in the black eyes. "I'm sure you did." Waving aside whatever retort Mierin might have intended, he turned to Joar. "Joar Addam. Mierin has told me you wish to join our cause."

Joar hadn't expected the subject to be approached so bluntly. Then again, this _was_ Elan Morin Tedronai; he didn't do pointless niceties. Mouth suddenly dry, Joar nodded. "Yes," he replied. "Yes, I… I do."

Tedronai regarded him intently; Joar had to resist the urge to fidget nervously under his gaze. "I will not ask you why; every man's reasons are his own," he said eventually. "I will accompany you to Shayol Ghul myself."

"I-I was hoping Mierin might—" Joar began, but cut off when the other man arched an eyebrow. It wasn't like him to talk before thinking, but he had been caught off guard. He wasn't afraid of Tedronai, precisely, but neither did he feel entirely comfortable with the idea of being alone with him — or having him accompany him to Shayol Ghul. It was absurd — Tedronai had never been anything but civil towards him — but there it was.

Tedronai shook his head slightly. "I am afraid Mierin will have other commitments."

Joar glanced at Mierin, but she said nothing to contradict the statement. She was staring at Tedronai with a closed expression — angry, Joar thought, but cautious enough to not let her temper flare. That was telling; Mierin rarely bothered moderating her temper. If anything, the observation made Joar more uneasy, but there was nothing to be done about that. "Very well," he said, willing his voice to steadiness. "Your offer is most kind. Thank you."

Tedronai inclined his head slightly in what might have been a mocking bow. "My pleasure." He gestured at a servant, who had entered so silently that Joar had not noticed his presence until he was offered a glass of wine from a silver tray. Not Da'shain, Joar noted idly; the young man had light hair and fair complexion, but his eyes were black. He glanced up again — and gasped. The servant's eyes were… _dead_ was not the right word; there had never been a spark of life in those eyes. He looked back at Tedronai, who smiled slightly. "You know of Ishar Morrad, I trust. The _zomara_ are his latest innovation. I never liked having Da'shain in my home."

Joar drained his glass, and the servant — the _zomara_ — refilled without any discernible command. It was a construct… But there were constructs that had minds of their own, thoughts and feelings. The Nym. He couldn't imagine the pitch-black eyes hiding a thinking mind behind them, but somehow the construct had known that he wanted his glass refilled. He looked up at the _zomara_ again and found that it was smiling back at him. He couldn't quite suppress a shudder. "Remarkable."

"Indeed," Mierin said coolly. She made a show of looking at the tall clock between two bookshelves. "It's getting late, we should—" She trailed off when the full weight of Tedronai's gaze fell upon her. "—leave," she finished, looking down into her glass, still more than half full.

The smile might have held a trace of amusement or not, it was impossible to tell. "Of course," Tedronai said, too smoothly, too obviously neglecting to point out that they had only just arrived. He rose gracefully, setting his glass on the tray held by the _zomara_. "I'll see you to the door."

Joar cast one last glance at the grand piano as he followed Mierin and Tedronai.

* * *

Once out on the street, alone in the darkening night, Mierin rounded on him. "What are you playing at?" she snapped. Without giving Joar the chance to reply, she went on, "I don't know what you've done, but you've caught his attention and that's just about the stupidest thing you could have done!"

Genuinely baffled — he hadn't met Tedronai in years before this night! — Joar tried to think of a response, something to say to divert her wrath. "Mierin, I have no idea—"

"Shut up!" She whirled around and started off at a near-trot, but stopped after only a few paces and turned back again. "Are you coming or not?" When Joar caught up with her, she went on in a calmer voice. "He's dangerous, Joar."

Joar gave an awkward, lopsided shrug. "So are you and we get along… fine." He didn't add 'most of the time'; he was sure she heard it, anyway.

She let out a frustrated growl. "You… you are such a _child_, Joar!" She drew a deep breath before continuing in an almost lecturing tone. "I'm dangerous, but I'm on your side. As long as you don't do anything _idiotic_, I have your back. But Elan Morin is not on anybody's side. You'll never know what he's going to do until it's too late. Forget everything you know about how people function; none of that applies to him." She stepped closer and looked up at him, fierce look in her dark eyes. "Be careful." It was an order, not a request. "You're no good to me if you get yourself killed."

_Killed._ That was apparently a very real possibility when dealing with the leader of the Chosen, even when you were looking to serve the Great Lord as well. "Right," he said, hoping it came across as sufficiently agreeable rather than snarky. "I'll just… avoid him, then?"

Mierin snorted softly. "That would be the wisest course of action. But I don't think you'll be able to avoid him entirely. He did say he was going to take you to Shayol Ghul. Just be careful, alright? Don't do anything stupid."

How exactly was he supposed to know what was _stupid_ if the social norms he was used to didn't apply with Tedronai? He suspected Mierin had very little idea, either. "I'll be careful," he said.

* * *

Mierin's prediction — that he wouldn't be able to avoid Tedronai — proved accurate; the following evening he was invited to dinner at the Morin residence. The manor-like house was old but well maintained both inside and out, and the dinner was set in a pavilion in the beautiful garden. To Joar's surprise he was not the only guest — far from it. He didn't instantly recognise any of the others… But then, listening to the conversation, he realised that they were one and all musicians and composers, the most acclaimed of the sort in the recent decades. They all seemed to know each other, at least by reputation, and Joar as well. They didn't seem to know what to make of the occasion any more than he did, however, and Tedronai, acting every bit the gracious if slightly absent-minded host, gave nothing away.

Finally, after several hours and copious amounts of wine, the guests began to take their leave, one by one. Joar himself would have gone a lone time ago, but when he had tried to get up, Tedronai had caught his eye and wordlessly told him to stay put — and he had to admit that he was curious as to what the point of the gathering had been. After the last of the other guests was gone — Moira Almea, a bright, young thing, full of potential and gushing with inspiration; she reminded Joar of himself some two hundred years back — Tedronai finally addressed him. "More wine?"

Joar began to shake his head, but his glass was already refilled before he could protest so he picked it up and drank. "It's been… an interesting evening," he ventured after a while.

"Yes," Tedronai replied in a voice that might have been thoughtful or just bored. "Very informative." He sipped from his own glass; as far as Joar could see, he had drank as much as his guests, but didn't seem at all inebriated.

"Informative," Joar repeated, with the slightest rising intonation; the other man could consider it a question if he so wished.

An amused — and possibly slightly condescending — smile touched Tedronai's lips. "Yes," he said lightly. "I have learnt a great deal about you this night, Joar Addam." He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Nothing I didn't at least half expect, fear not. You will serve the Great Lord well, I believe."

Unsure how to respond — he had barely participated in the conversations; what exactly did Tedronai think he had learnt about him? — Joar inclined his head slightly. "I hope to."

"I enjoyed your latest work," Tedronai said, abruptly changing subject. "It's a damned shame it didn't get a better reception; I feel you captured the current state of our society better than most philosophers ever could." A wry undertone entered his voice. "I hope you realise that this is high praise from me. I confess I know little about how to compliment an artist."

"Duly noted," Joar replied.

"I would like you to play it for me."

That caught Joar off guard. "What—? Now?"

That smile, again, and this time there definitely was a condescending edge to it. "Why not?" Tedronai replied. "Or does Mierin set a curfew?"

Joar didn't grace the last part with an answer. "Very well," he said, a touch stiffly. He followed Tedronai inside the house and to the room with the grand piano. If he was honest with himself, he _had_ wanted to try the magnificent instrument from the moment he had seen it; he told himself he should try to appreciate the change now that it had been given. He played the new concerto in its entirety — it required an orchestra, really, to accompany the piano, but he could make it work without. Tedronai stood by the window the whole time, staring out into the night; from what Joar could see of his profile his face held very little expression.

There was a silence after Joar finished. It was not until after several long minutes that Tedronai spoke, still without facing him. "The others make music for the world as they perceive it should be, as they think it has been before they were born, as they imagine it will some day be again." He turned finally, and his mocking smile was at odds with the melancholy in his eyes. "Your music doesn't pretend to be something it isn't."

Oddly nervous all of a sudden, Joar wet his lips. "Like what?" He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer… But he had to ask. "For example?"

"Great art." As though completely unaware of the effect of his words, Tedronai swept past him towards the door. "You will excuse me. If you wish to play more, you're welcome to stay as long as you like, but I will retire for the night. One of the _zomara_ will be there to show you out when you're ready."

Joar didn't want to continue playing — he wasn't sure he ever wanted to play again — but neither could he get up and leave just yet. He felt like he had been punched in the gut. So his music wasn't great art. What was news about that? For half his life he had been told about his vast potential, and the other half he had continuously tried and failed to live up to that potential. Not great art? He wanted to laugh, but he could barely breathe. Didn't he know. Didn't he know that all too well.

Yet, somehow… There had been neither pity nor scorn in Tedronai's voice when he said it. If anything, Joar could detect a hint of contempt towards so-called 'great art' or music that — what was it he'd said again? — pretended to be great art. Perhaps that was something worth thinking about. With that thought, he finally found the strength to get up and leave.

* * *

Two days later he had a visitor, one he would have never expected. It took him a moment to put a name to the heart-shaped face smiling up at him — she had dimples, he noted — but when she spoke, he recognised her voice instantly. "Miss Almea," he greeted her. "What… ah, what brings you here?"

"Do you like cheese cake?" she asked, which may or may not have been an answer to his question. She held up a box marked with the logo of a bakery two streets away. "I was in the neighbourhood — one of my students lives nearby — and I thought I'd drop by and see if you're home. May I come in?"

Too surprised to protest, he moved aside and closed the door after her. He followed the sound of her voice to the kitchen, where she was already expertly operating the coffee machine as though it was a perfectly normal thing to do in someone else's home. He found himself promptly sat down with a generous slice of cheese cake placed before him. "So…" he tried again. "To what do I owe the honour?"

The young woman — she _must_ be even younger that he had initially assumed that night — gave him a dazzling smile. "An honour, is it?" she said. "I hope that wasn't meant to be sarcastic."

Joar shook his head slowly. "No, not sarcastic," he replied. "Try 'confused'."

"You don't get a lot of visitors, do you?" she asked. Joar simply gave her a blank look, and she continued. "I wanted to meet you again. You stood out in that crowd. Almost as much as Elan Morin himself, and for better reasons. I was intrigued." Her smile had such a disarming quality. And she had golden specks in her big, brown eyes, Joar noted idly. They were remarkably pretty eyes — she was a remarkably pretty woman — but spending as much time around Mierin Eronaile as he did, merely 'remarkably pretty' did not faze him. "The others," she went on, "were upstarts barely out of the Music Academy. You… Everything they were boasting of, all night, you've been there and done that. Yet you let them do all the talking. Most other men would have shut them down on short notice."

"Is that so?" Joar said, not really a question.

"Uh-uh," she replied around a mouthful of cheesecake. She washed it down with a sip of coffee before speaking again. "You're…"

"Embittered?" he offered. "Disillusioned? Old?"

She winced, but didn't seem offended. "I was going for 'different', but, you know…"

Joar sighed; it wasn't her fault that he was all of those things, and he shouldn't take his frustration out on her even if she had invaded his home and disrupted his afternoon routine of doing absolutely nothing of consequence. "I apologise, Miss Almea," he said, running a hand over his face. "It has been a long, stressful week." That at least was true, between Mierin and Tedronai and now this.

"Oh, don't worry about it," she replied. "And, please… Call me Moira."

"Moira," he repeated dully. He wasn't sure he liked where the conversation seemed to be going. "Very well. If you insist."

She flashed another one of her heart-stopper smiles. "I do insist… Oh." She fished a softly buzzing callbox out of her purse. "I have to go," she said and got up. "That'll be my sister here to pick me up. Dinner at our brother's. Unless…" She hesitated, as though an idea had just occurred to her. "Would you like to join us?" she asked.

Joar blinked. "No," he said quickly. "Don't take this the wrong way, Miss Almea — Moira, forgive me — but… No."

She didn't appear surprised, but that didn't stop her from trying again. "You would be welcome, you know."

He shook his head. "I appreciate the thought." He supposed he did, in a way. And even if he didn't, he had enough common courtesy to go through the motions. "Goodbye, Moira."

* * *

The following day — late in the evening, in fact — he was invited to the Morin residence again. Or perhaps 'summoned' was a better word; there was no warning, one of the _zomara_ simply showed up and he was expected to drop everything and follow. Not that he had been up to anything in particular — he had been thinking of a hot bath and then sleep — but he didn't appreciate the suddenness of the summons any more for the fact. There was no garden party this time, nor other guests; instead, he was taken straight into the music room, where Tedronai was waiting.

"Play for me," the other man said without preamble.

Swallowing a protest — _you summoned me for that?!_ — Joar sat before the grand piano. "What do you want me to play?"

"Anything."

Well, wasn't that helpful. Joar nearly rolled his eyes, but began to play the first song that came to his mind; a funeral dirge called _The March of Death_. Tedronai lounged on the couch, drinking wine and staring blankly at nothing while Joar played. He said nothing when the song ended, and after a few moments of less than comfortable silence Joar began another one. He couldn't have said how much time passed in this manner; he couldn't even remember all the songs he had played, afterwards. Eventually he decided that enough was enough and finished with a repeat of _The March of Death_. Tedronai still didn't stir; had the man fallen asleep?

Joar walked over to the couch. Tedronai was not asleep, unless he was sleeping with his eyes half open, but he did not react to Joar's presence — or the absence of music — in any way. "With your leave," Joar said softly, "I will be going home now." No response. "Elan Morin?" he tried again, a bit louder.

Tedronai blinked, and his gaze slowly focused on Joar. For a moment his eyes were almost as empty as those of the _zomara_. "Thank you," he said then. "For the music. It was relaxing."

"Anytime," Joar heard himself say.

* * *

He met Moira again a couple of days later. She showed up much as she had the first time, unannounced and uninvited and bearing gifts, a strawberry pie this time. Again, she had just happened to be in the neighbourhood — a student lived nearby; Joar didn't ask if it was the same student — and again she appropriated his kitchen as naturally as most people breathe. Joar thought about telling her to leave, telling her that he was busy, but then something in her incessant chattering pierced through his distracted thoughts.

"Wait, what was that?" he asked. "Who has been assaulted?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "Alwin Kait," she replied. "He was at Elan Morin's party with us. He was supposed to be awarded his third name in a ceremony this weekend, he was supposed to give a concert, but now the last I heard the Restorers are working day and night just to make him able to walk again. And he'll never play an instrument again." She looked at him, brown eyes huge and serious. "His hands… _They cut off half his fingers_, Joar! That kind of senseless cruelty, why… Why would anyone do that?"

"To make sure he never plays an instrument again," Joar replied quietly. He felt sick. Not because of what had been done to this Alwin Kait, abominable as it was — at least not entirely because of it — but because there was a part of him that felt satisfaction at the news of a rival's misfortune. A part of him felt… _vindicated_, somehow. Alwin Kait was one young upstart who was not going to succeed in what Joar had failed. And that part of him that felt all this, was slowly realising that after he had taken his oaths to the Great Lord in Shayol Ghul, he would have access to resources — to people who did this kind of thing — to make it happen to others. The possibilities were endless.

"Joar? Are you alright?"

He blinked, with some effort focusing on the face before him. "Yes. No. I… I don't know."

Moira looked back at him, concern painted all over her features. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean to shock you."

"You didn't," he replied by rote.

She snorted. "I hope you don't expect me to buy that." She raised a hand to touch his face, gently tracing the line of his jaw with a thumb. "I _am_ sorry," she said. "I just needed to talk to somebody. And you…" Suddenly she was close, so very close, seemingly without moving. "You seemed like someone I could trust."

"You trust too easily," Joar muttered, avoiding her eyes. But he didn't stop her when she pulled his head down and kissed him. And he didn't protest when she led him to the bedroom. And then he didn't even think of protesting, or much else for that matter, for the next while.

* * *

"I don't normally do this sort of thing," he said as they lay in bed side by side afterwards.

Moira turned her head to look at him. "Isn't that my line?"

Ignoring her, Joar went on, "Usually it involves horribly pretentious cocktail parties and expensive hotel rooms, champagne breakfast, a quick goodbye and never seeing them again."

"So cynical," Moira murmured. Then she grinned. "Well, I'm not staying around for breakfast; I have business to attend to early tomorrow and I didn't bring a change of clothes with me."

"Fair enough," he replied. "I'm fresh out of champagne, anyway."

She got up and began dressing, unhurriedly, obviously aware of his eyes on her and not bothered in the least. "I'll be back tomorrow," she said when she was done. "If that's alright with you, that is." She hesitated, seeming vaguely embarrassed for the first time. "I mean to say, I _will_ leave you alone if that's what you wish. But I'd like to see you again. If you don't mind terribly."

Joar gave a short, startled laugh. "I don't mind," he said. It was even true, after a fashion. There were worse ways to spend an afternoon than with a beautiful, young woman who for some baffling reason wanted to feed you cake and enjoyed your company and didn't seem interested in dramatic confessions of feelings that weren't there.

"Great!" That dazzling smile again. "I'll see you tomorrow, then!"

* * *

Moira came by the following day, and the one after. She never stayed overnight or long enough to make a nuisance out of herself; she was always gone before Joar had the chance to miss his solitude. Tedronai summoned him once more the night after Moira's third visit, and again he played for the leader of the Chosen, who barely said a word. When he was leaving, he thought he would chance a question.

"I have not heard from Mierin in a while," he began cautiously. That didn't trigger any particular reaction, and so he went on. "I was wondering if you knew what she's up to?"

Tedronai smiled thinly. "I know," he said. "And her business right now is not your problem."

Joar nodded. "I thought you might say that. I just wanted to make sure she is… well." _Not in trouble_ was what he had in mind, but he wasn't exactly going to say that out loud.

Tedronai seemed to hear it anyway. "You are not entirely wrong to worry about her," he said, in an overly casual voice. "Her temper has always got her in trouble." Then he smiled again. "Fear not, Joar Addam. She is well. And likely to stay that way for the time being, unless she does something even I cannot imagine."

That didn't sound terribly reassuring, but it was obviously all he was going to get, so Joar nodded. "Thank you." Looking at Tedronai, looking at the way he was watching him, a thought suddenly occurred to him. "You know what happened to Alwin Kait?" he asked before he could stop himself. He wasn't sure what kind of a reaction he had expected, but it wasn't the small, knowing smirk he received.

"I have heard," Tedronai said. He stepped closer, close enough that Joar noticed for the first time that he was in fact shorter than Joar himself. "And how did that make you feel? Hearing the news of a promising young musician's career ruined?"

Staring into the black eyes, nearly level with his own, way closer than he was comfortable with, Joar had an absurd moment of fear of falling. With effort he broke eye contact, looked away. "Good," he breathed. "It felt good."

A cool hand turned his head to face Tedronai again. "This is only the beginning," Tedronai said quietly.

Joar suppressed a shiver; the other man was too close, too intense, he had to snap out of this… "Just— just to get this straight," he said, hearing the slightly breathless tremor in his own voice, "are you trying to seduce me? Just so that I know to respond accordingly."

A rare spark of what seemed like genuine humour lit up in Tedronai's eyes. "Would it be worth my while?"

How exactly did one answer that? "Probably not," Joar replied, shaking his head slowly.

But instead of — whatever would have been a logical course of action in that situation; Joar wasn't entirely sure what he had expected but it _certainly_ wasn't this! — Tedronai leaned in and kissed him on the lips. It didn't last long and it wasn't exactly a kiss to sweep anyone off their feet, but it was surprisingly… pleasant, all things considered.

"Fair enough," Tedronai murmured against Joar's lips before withdrawing. "Good night."

* * *

A couple of uneventful, relatively pleasant days later Moira failed to show up at the usual time. Joar wasn't unduly worried; they didn't have any official plans to meet, after all. It was just that he had grown to expect her in the afternoon. He didn't mind, though, and assumed that she simply had other things to do. Perhaps she had even met some other man — or a woman — someone more interesting, maybe closer to her own age. He wasn't sure how he felt about that possibility, but the fact that he wasn't sure meant that he probably wouldn't miss her long. People moved on. Their little affair had already lasted longer than he would have ever expected.

In the evening, however, the doorbell rang. It was raining outside and water was dripping from her hair and her clothes seemed soaked right through. That was somewhat odd — she was Aes Sedai, after all; she could have easily avoided getting wet — but more alarming was the look on her face. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," Joar replied, puzzled. "Why do you even ask? I was expecting you earlier." He paused. "You know what, it doesn't matter. Go take a shower, I'll find something dry for you to wear. Then you can tell me what's wrong. As much as you want to."

She gave him a grateful smile as she swept past him and vanished into the bathroom. He gathered a clean towel, one of his less fancy shirts — it would reach almost down to her knees — and a spare dressing gown and quickly left them where she would find them once she emerged from the shower. He had to wait a while, and he tried to put a leash on his imagination to keep from worrying too much. Likely she had just lost her keys and got caught in the rain or something. But he knew he was trying to fool himself into thinking it was nothing serious. In an attempt to busy himself to keep from thinking, he made tea and sandwiches, and just when he was done, Moira finally came out of the bathroom. Wrapped in the oversized dressing gown, damp hair falling to her shoulders in unruly curls, she seemed even younger than she was.

"Thanks," she said as she accepted the mug of tea. In her direct manner that Joar appreciated so much, she cut straight to the chase. "There's been another assault."

Joar gave a start. "Assault?" he repeated. Then it dawned on him what she must be talking about. "Who?" he asked.

"Eilen Sune Taerena." She didn't need to tell him where the name should be familiar from; even if he didn't remember the woman, he could guess with certainty that she had been one of the guests at Tedronai's garden party. "Rumours vary on whether she was still alive when she was found, but she didn't make it." Had this been the extent of her news, it would have been shocking enough. Assault or murder weren't as rare as they once had been, before the drilling of the Bore, but they still weren't exactly something people were comfortable discussing. But there was more. "I did some research." She let out a small chuckle and shook her head. "Ha, listen to me… 'Research', like I were a scientist at Collam Daan." But the humour was feeble and short-lived. "I found out that these two cases are not the only ones. Joar, over half of the guests at that party are now dead or… or mutilated!" She shivered hard enough to spill tea; she set the mug down when she noticed. "I don't know what's going on, Joar, but I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm scared. This is not a coincidence. I may not be an academic but I know this many people can't be a coincidence. Who's next?"

Joar shook his head in disbelief. There was no doubt in his mind that Tedronai was behind this, somehow. Oh, he wouldn't be getting his own delicate, white hands dirty, but this was certainly his doing. "I… I don't know, Moira," he muttered, hoping that she took his reaction for shock at the news. "I don't know."

"I wasn't expecting you would," she said, a mixture of exasperation and fondness. "Obviously." She reached over the table to take his hand with both of hers. "Joar, can I stay here tonight? I know we don't do this thing, but I don't know if I could sleep alone in my apartment. And it's way too late to show up on my sister's door, looking like this. Besides, if someone _is_ after us, for some absurd reason… Seriously, who the bloody hell would put a— a hitman on a bunch of musicians? But if someone is, I don't want to pull them down on Malla and her family. She has children."

He was already nodding halfway through her speech. "Of course. Stay as long as you want." No sooner had the words left his mouth than he wished he'd stopped to think for a moment longer. He couldn't exactly have Moira there when he was summoned to meet with Tedronai again, or to go to Shayol Ghul. And what if Mierin showed up? She rarely gave much warning, if ever. But he couldn't take back his offer, not now. He would find some way to make her see that staying for longer than one night would not be a good idea. Tomorrow. For now, he would let her finish her tea and go to sleep. They both needed it…

* * *

In the morning Joar woke up to the sound of music; harp, more precisely. It took him a few moments to remember that he wasn't alone in his apartment — and the reason why this had come about — and while the dots slowly connected in his mind, he lay still in bed and listened. Moira was a skilled musician in her own right, it seemed. Joar didn't recognise the song she was playing but it was delightfully intricate, complex without feeling too mechanical. The melody held a breath of life, such as he hadn't been able to bring into his music in far too long. It was beautiful.

It made him want to scream.

Of course he didn't do that. Instead he made himself breathe evenly until he was relatively confident he wasn't going to start breaking things before getting out of bed.

Moira quit playing immediately as she saw him in the doorway. "Morning," she said. "I saw your harp and I… I probably should have asked first." She grimaced. "I'm sorry."

"No, no," he said quickly. "It's fine. It's fine. You're… good." That sounded insufficient to his own ears, but her eyes lit up with pleasure at the compliment.

"Your opinion means a lot to me," she said with a smile. And before he could think of anything else to say, she got up and set the harp carefully on the table. "I have to go. I'm meeting my first student in thirty minutes. Thanks for letting me sleep here, Joar."

"Anytime," he replied.

She walked over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm not sure if I can come back today. I have an important meeting in the afternoon…" She drew a deep breath; her manner was both nervous and excited. "Wish me luck?"

"Absolutely," he replied, wondering idly what the meeting was about and whether she would tell him if he asked. The latter was a moot point; he knew he wasn't going to ask. "Good luck."

"Thanks!" She flashed a final grin and was gone.

Joar sat heavily on the couch and sat there staring accusingly at the harp on the table for a long time until he found the energy to get up again and put the instrument back in its case. None of this was its fault, after all. He found himself wishing that Mierin would resurface soon; she was bossy and insufferable most of the time — borderline terrifying the rest of the time — but she was good at helping Joar put things into perspective.

* * *

For two more days, nothing of any consequence seemed to happen. Tedronai seemed to be keeping himself entertained without Joar, and Moira only visited briefly, hinting at an important project that could change her life. They didn't talk about the assaults after that night, and Joar could see she was doing her best not to think about the subject and he certainly didn't want to bring it up.

On the third day Joar was scheduled to give a guest lecture at the Music Academy — he wasn't sure why he had agreed to it; he must have been distracted when they asked him — and despite very much not wanting to do it, he showed up on time, gave the lecture, ignored most of the questions afterwards and was about to leave when he heard his name called. Reluctantly he stopped and waited for the intruder to catch up with him.

"It's been a while since you showed your face in these halls," Allen Modr Kerrin said in way of greeting. Joar made a noncommittal sound, which the other man seemed to take for agreement or greeting or both. "You must be proud of your little protege," the man went on. "To think that—"

"What?" Joar cut him off as the words sunk in. "My what now?"

"Oh, Moira Almea," Allen replied. "I must admit, to my shame, that I never thought you'd get over your own career enough to support someone else. I'm glad to see that I was wrong about you."

"Yes. Well." Joar tried to scramble for something intelligent to say. "I… Ah, of course I am proud of Moira, she is a remarkable young woman…" That last part at least was true. "But you're making me suspect there's something she hasn't told me… yet. Is there a specific occasion to… ah, celebrate?"

Allen grinned and clasped Joar's shoulder companionably; Joar barely suppressed a flinch. "Her musical has been approved for production!" Allen replied, obviously assuming that Joar knew that such a musical existed. "It will be running through the winter season at The Golden Harp."

"That's… great news," Joar said, plastering what he hoped was a sufficiently delighted smile on his face. "Excuse me. I must go. I need to… to call her… to congratulate…" Still mumbling excuses, he made his escape and Travelled home as soon as he was out of sight.

Moira had written a musical? And never mentioned it to him? Of course, they had never talked much about music or work-related things in general. But Joar had thought she was just a music teacher, a private tutor for young scions of rich families that wanted their children to have an education in music. But of course, thinking back to where and how they had first met… It fit the picture. The other guests had all been distinguished in some way, or soon to be distinguished, rising stars. Why had he forgotten about that? Why had he forgotten that Moira was a potential rival exactly like Alwin Kait or Eilen Sune Taerena? No… He shook his head in frustration. If he was honest with himself, he hadn't forgotten as much as deliberately ignored the fact. Moira hadn't seemed ambitious enough to be a threat. She had called him interesting for being different; he supposed he had wanted to think that she would be… _different_… too. That perhaps she had tried and failed and given up on building a career as a composer and instead settled for teaching.

No, he should have known she wasn't one to give up. Unlike him.

And why had Allen referred to her as his protege? That was absurd. He didn't know anything about her career — He needed to 'get over' himself? Hah! — how was he supposedly supporting her?

* * *

He was still thinking about that when the doorbell rang. He didn't answer. It rang again. When he still didn't open the door, he felt the chill of _saidar_ being channelled, and a gateway opened just this side of the front door. Outraged beyond words — she would _dare_ enter his home without permission? — he gaped at the gateway, but it was not Moira who entered. It was Mierin.

"Close your mouth before you start catching flies," she said crisply as she let the gateway wink shut behind her. She looked like she hadn't been sleeping too well, but otherwise she was her charming, irate self, ready to bite off his head if he gave her half a reason. Gesturing with one immaculately manicured hand, she went on, "I hear you've taken a lover."

Joar sat down and gave a short, mirthless chuckle. "Jealous?" he asked.

Mierin snorted. "You wish."

He most certainly didn't wish her to be jealous of him — listening to her go on about Lews Therin was quite enough for him — but he didn't think it necessary to grace the comment with a response. "She's not really a lover," he said instead. "More like…"

"Friends with benefits?" Mierin offered.

"I'm not too sure she's even a friend," he said with an uncomfortable shrug. "It's… difficult to explain. We never really put a label to it."

"Isn't that sweet," Mierin said, contempt clear in her voice. "Now get up. We're being expected."

* * *

Tedronai had other guests when Joar and Mierin arrived; a tall, dark, stern-looking woman with short-cropped hair, and a distractingly beautiful blonde in a barely decent streith gown. They both frowned at Mierin — who even in her slightly haggard state made the lush blonde look merely pretty in comparison — and gave Joar a carefully blank look. Mierin ignored them, and so Joar tried to do the same as they waited for the two to conclude whatever their business with Tedronai was. Finally Tedronai dismissed the other two and turned to Mierin.

"You didn't have to come," he said without preamble. "I told you to bring me Joar. You could have gone about your business." His tone suggested that maybe she should have, that maybe she should excuse herself right now.

Mierin smiled thinly. "Perhaps," she said. "But I feel responsible for him. I will stay."

Tedronai arched an eyebrow, but all he said was "Very well." Then he turned his attention to Joar, as though he had put Mierin out of his mind already. Nothing about his manner indicated that he remembered that the last time they had met he had kissed Joar; if anything, he appeared even bored. "Play for me."

Uncomfortably conscious of Mierin's incredulous stare, Joar walked over to the grand piano and began to play. He wanted to laugh hysterically at the sheer awkwardness of the situation; Tedronai didn't acknowledge Mierin's presence, and Mierin was too puzzled by the proceedings to do anything but sit in the corner and frown thoughtfully at the two men. A _zomara_ brought wine at some point, with a glass for Mierin as well but she didn't touch it. Tedronai still didn't as much as glance her way; he was pacing about the room slowly, as though lost in thought.

"How does it feel," Tedronai suddenly said, without stopping his pacing, "to know that you could help someone reach the heights you never managed to climb?"

Startled, Joar drew a sharp breath. "Do you know everything that happens in Paraan Disen?" he muttered, ignoring the actual question as well as Mierin trying to bore a hole through the back of his head with her stare.

"Most things that are worth knowing," Tedronai replied. "Keep playing."

Joar did, playing mechanically, without thinking. "Was it you?" he asked after a while, when it seemed like Tedronai wasn't going to continue on the subject. "Did you set her at me?"

"Oh, not at all." There was amusement in Tedronai's voice. "I thought she might have taken an interest, after that night, but it was completely up to her to make anything of it."

A thought suddenly occurred to Joar, something he should have thought of way, way earlier. "She's… not one of us, is she? A Friend of the Dark?"

Tedronai halted in his tracks and turned to look at him. "Would that change anything?" he asked. "Would you be more willing to stand in her shadow if you were on the _same side_? Less?"

Joar didn't know. And before he could think of a way to divert the question, Mierin spoke up. "Is this really necessary?"

"Quiet, Mierin," Tedronai said. There was no heat in his voice but his authority was absolute. He walked over to stand behind Joar. "Answer me."

"It wouldn't change a thing," Joar said in a low voice. He was angry, all of a sudden. Angry at Moira for having a promising career and the ability to keep driving it forward. Angry at Tedronai for attempting to manipulate him and not even having the grace to be clear about what exactly he wanted him to do or say. Angry at Mierin for being there but not doing anything. And most of all, angry at himself for being such an easy target for all of the mentioned. "It wouldn't change a damn thing! She's a rival and she needs to be eliminated!"

He heard Mierin's gasp as though from very far away. He realised that he had stopped playing. The silence felt deafening.

Finally Tedronai spoke again. "You would kill her just because she is about to succeed where you failed?"

"Is that not what you've been getting at?" Joar countered. "Having all those other musicians done for. Taunting me about her." He stood up to face the other man, absurdly glad for the height difference, small as it was. At least he didn't have to look up at Tedronai. "But no. I will not kill her. I'm a musician, not a killer. I'm sure I can find someone to do the deed, once you take me to Shayol Ghul. What's the hold up, anyway?"

If Tedronai was uncomfortable with Joar attempting to tower over him, he gave no sign. "If you want Moira Almea dead, I can make it happen," he said quietly, with neither approval nor encouragement… But there was no disapproval, either.

"Yes," Joar whispered. He met Tedronai's gaze steadily, vaguely surprised at how well he was able to keep his fear in check. In fact he felt very little of anything.

But Tedronai wasn't satisfied with that. "Then say so." It was an order, and Joar had the feeling that more might depend on it than Moira's life. "Say you want her dead."

Joar obeyed. "I want her dead," he said dully. "I want Moira Almea dead."

Tedronai's smile seemed almost sad — no, that was impossible; Joar must be projecting his own, strangely absent feelings onto the man who surely didn't feel anything.

"It will be done," the leader of the Chosen said. Then he took a step back and turned to address Mierin. "Take him home."

Mierin was at Joar's side in an instant, taking him by the arm. "Come along, now. I don't have all night to babysit you, Joar! Move it!"

* * *

Moira didn't come the following day. Joar spent most of the day wondering — trying not to wonder — how quickly Tedronai could possibly have the deed done. The man seemed to have infinite resources, he seemed to know things as soon as they happened… Moira might be dead already. But he hadn't said it would be done right away, just that it would be done. Joar should have asked, he should have been more specific. But he had barely been able to think. Would Tedronai send a word when it was done? Just so that he could stop waiting?

Eventually he decided he couldn't be alone. He wasn't usually the one who visited Mierin — Mierin usually showed up at his apartment, more or less uninvited, usually more — but he figured she'd forgive him this once. She never stayed mad at him for long, possibly because he was the only one who put up with her disproportionately inflated ego. Perhaps she would rant all night about Lews Therin or how the Hall of Servants was full of stuck-up old men who had unfairly refused to grant her a third name for her research. It almost made him laugh, to think that he was looking forward to listening to all of that. Almost.

Mierin asked no questions. That much at least was a relief. And if she didn't exactly launch into a delightfully distracting three-hour rant, she did have her fair share of things to complain about and advice to give, and the night passed, if not quickly… well, it passed. That was the important part.

In the early hours of the morning, before the break of dawn, he was summoned to Shayol Ghul.

* * *

He didn't remember much about the visit afterwards, at least in detail. He remembered the hard cave floor under his knees, but couldn't have said whether the cave was large or small, circular or some other shape. He remembered introducing himself, but he wasn't sure if he had spoken out loud or whether the Great Lord had heard his thoughts. He remembered hearing the Great Lord's voice — if it could be called 'hearing' or a 'voice' — and the essence of what it had said to him, but the specifics, the words, had escaped his mind. He remembered the agony and the ecstasy of the Great Lord's presence crashing over him like an avalanche — he didn't think he'd ever forget _that_ even if he might wish to.

When they came back to Paraan Disen — to Tedronai's house, where Mierin was waiting — Joar thought no time had passed at all… Until Tedronai told him that it had, in fact, been a full twenty-four hours.

"Time flows differently close to the Bore," he explained, which didn't really explain anything except that Joar had lost a full day.

Mierin handed him his callbox. "Someone has been trying to call you," she said, her voice carefully bland. Too carefully bland; Mierin Eronaile didn't do _bland_.

Joar took the callbox; it showed four new messages. He walked across the room — if she wanted to listen in, he couldn't stop her, but he needed at least the illusion of privacy. He was afraid he had a good idea what he was going to hear. He selected 'play all'.

"_Joar, it's me. They're after me. Someone's been in my apartment. I can't go home. I'm coming over."_

"_Where are you? I'm outside your door. Please open if you're there."_

"_Dammit, Joar, where are you? I'm at a coffee shop but I can't stay here for much longer. Call me."_

"_I think they've found me. Where— ah, Light, it doesn't matter. They've found me. I love—"_

Joar set the callbox on the table and channelled the weaves of Air to crush it to pieces. He didn't stop until all that was left of the device was a scattering of fine dust on the table. Mierin looked as though she wanted to say something, but changed her mind as he fixed her with a hard look. He sat by the grand piano and started to play.

* * *

He wasn't sure how much later it was when he became aware of his surroundings again. Mierin was gone. Tedronai was there, instead, standing behind him.

"Play _The March of Death_," the leader of the Chosen said.

Joar obliged.

Halfway through the funeral dirge, Tedronai spoke again. "She escaped."

Joar didn't believe him. He had no idea why Tedronai would possibly be lying about the matter, but he couldn't believe it either. "I listened to her messages," he said dully. "They caught her."

"And she fought, and she escaped," Tedronai replied. Pause. Then, "How does that make you feel?"

"Feel?" Joar repeated, tasting the word. How _did_ he feel? …Did he? "Nothing," he said. "I feel… nothing."

A hand settled on his shoulder. "You will serve the Great Lord well," Tedronai said. "Stay as long as you want. One of the _zomara_ will be here to show you out when you're ready." Then he was gone, leaving Joar alone.

Joar finished _The March of Death_ and got up. And sat back down again. Was he going to go home? What if Moira was truly alive and tried to contact him again? He couldn't be there if she did. Was he really going to have to move because of all this? That was going to be such an inconvenience. He stopped that track of thought short; it wasn't relevant right now. What was relevant was where he was going to spend the night. He didn't feel like going to Mierin's place again, either.

Suddenly he became aware of the _zomara_ standing a couple of paces away. "I don't think I summoned you," he said. The construct merely smiled that eerie, empty smile. Joar stood up. "Ah, well. You know what, whatever. Take me to… your master. Take me to Elan Morin."

Tedronai was still up when the _zomara_ led Joar to his bedchamber. "What is it?" he asked. If his manner wasn't precisely inviting, neither was it forbidding…

And now that Joar had come this far, he couldn't exactly turn back. "Ah, about that seduction?" he said. "Is that still an option?"

Tedronai smiled. "I'm sure we can come to an agreement."


End file.
